THIS young gentleman has several titles. Some young ladies consider him
‘a nice young man,’ others ‘a fine young man,’ others ‘quite a lady’s
man,’ others ‘a handsome man,’ others ‘a remarkably good-looking young
man.’ With some young ladies he is ‘a perfect angel,’ and with others
‘quite a love.’ He is likewise a charming creature, a duck, and a dear.
The young ladies’ young gentleman has usually a fresh colour and very
white teeth, which latter articles, of course, he displays on every
possible opportunity. He has brown or black hair, and whiskers of the
same, if possible; but a slight tinge of red, or the hue which is
vulgarly known as _sandy_, is not considered an objection. If his head
and face be large, his nose prominent, and his figure square, he is an
uncommonly fine young man, and worshipped accordingly. Should his
whiskers meet beneath his chin, so much the better, though this is not
absolutely insisted on; but he must wear an under-waistcoat, and smile
constantly.
There was a great party got up by some party-loving friends of ours last
summer, to go and dine in Epping Forest. As we hold that such wild
expeditions should never be indulged in, save by people of the smallest
means, who have no dinner at home, we should indubitably have excused
ourself from attending, if we had not recollected that the projectors of
the excursion were always accompanied on such occasions by a choice
sample of the young ladies’ young gentleman, whom we were very anxious to
have an opportunity of meeting. This determined us, and we went.
We were to make for Chigwell in four glass coaches, each with a trifling
company of six or eight inside, and a little boy belonging to the
projectors on the box—and to start from the residence of the projectors,
Woburn-place, Russell-square, at half-past ten precisely. We arrived at
the place of rendezvous at the appointed time, and found the glass
coaches and the little boys quite ready, and divers young ladies and
young gentlemen looking anxiously over the breakfast-parlour blinds, who
appeared by no means so much gratified by our approach as we might have
expected, but evidently wished we had been somebody else. Observing that
our arrival in lieu of the unknown occasioned some disappointment, we
ventured to inquire who was yet to come, when we found from the hasty
reply of a dozen voices, that it was no other than the young ladies’
young gentleman.
‘I cannot imagine,’ said the mamma, ‘what has become of Mr. Balim—always
so punctual, always so pleasant and agreeable. I am sure I can-_not_
think.’ As these last words were uttered in that measured, emphatic
manner which painfully announces that the speaker has not quite made up
his or her mind what to say, but is determined to talk on nevertheless,
the eldest daughter took up the subject, and hoped no accident had
happened to Mr. Balim, upon which there was a general chorus of ‘Dear Mr.
Balim!’ and one young lady, more adventurous than the rest, proposed that
an express should be straightway sent to dear Mr. Balim’s lodgings.
This, however, the papa resolutely opposed, observing, in what a short
young lady behind us termed ‘quite a bearish way,’ that if Mr. Balim
didn’t choose to come, he might stop at home. At this all the daughters
raised a murmur of ‘Oh pa!’ except one sprightly little girl of eight or
ten years old, who, taking advantage of a pause in the discourse,
remarked, that perhaps Mr. Balim might have been married that morning—for
which impertinent suggestion she was summarily ejected from the room by
her eldest sister.
[Picture: The Young Ladies’ Young Gentleman]
We were all in a state of great mortification and uneasiness, when one of
the little boys, running into the room as airily as little boys usually
run who have an unlimited allowance of animal food in the holidays, and
keep their hands constantly forced down to the bottoms of very deep
trouser-pockets when they take exercise, joyfully announced that Mr.
Balim was at that moment coming up the street in a hackney-cab; and the
intelligence was confirmed beyond all doubt a minute afterwards by the
entry of Mr. Balim himself, who was received with repeated cries of
‘Where have you been, you naughty creature?’ whereunto the naughty
creature replied, that he had been in bed, in consequence of a late party
the night before, and had only just risen. The acknowledgment awakened a
variety of agonizing fears that he had taken no breakfast; which
appearing after a slight cross-examination to be the real state of the
case, breakfast for one was immediately ordered, notwithstanding Mr.
Balim’s repeated protestations that he couldn’t think of it. He did
think of it though, and thought better of it too, for he made a
remarkably good meal when it came, and was assiduously served by a select
knot of young ladies. It was quite delightful to see how he ate and
drank, while one pair of fair hands poured out his coffee, and another
put in the sugar, and another the milk; the rest of the company ever and
anon casting angry glances at their watches, and the glass coaches,—and
the little boys looking on in an agony of apprehension lest it should
begin to rain before we set out; it might have rained all day, after we
were once too far to turn back again, and welcome, for aught they cared.
However, the cavalcade moved at length, every coachman being accommodated
with a hamper between his legs something larger than a wheelbarrow; and
the company being packed as closely as they possibly could in the
carriages, ‘according,’ as one married lady observed, ‘to the immemorial
custom, which was half the diversion of gipsy parties.’ Thinking it very
likely it might be (we have never been able to discover the other half),
we submitted to be stowed away with a cheerful aspect, and were fortunate
enough to occupy one corner of a coach in which were one old lady, four
young ladies, and the renowned Mr. Balim the young ladies’ young
gentleman.
We were no sooner fairly off, than the young ladies’ young gentleman
hummed a fragment of an air, which induced a young lady to inquire
whether he had danced to that the night before. ‘By Heaven, then, I
did,’ replied the young gentleman, ‘and with a lovely heiress; a superb
creature, with twenty thousand pounds.’ ‘You seem rather struck,’
observed another young lady. ‘’Gad she was a sweet creature,’ returned
the young gentleman, arranging his hair. ‘Of course _she_ was struck
too?’ inquired the first young lady. ‘How can you ask, love?’ interposed
the second; ‘could she fail to be?’ ‘Well, honestly I think she was,’
observed the young gentleman. At this point of the dialogue, the young
lady who had spoken first, and who sat on the young gentleman’s right,
struck him a severe blow on the arm with a rosebud, and said he was a
vain man—whereupon the young gentleman insisted on having the rosebud,
and the young lady appealing for help to the other young ladies, a
charming struggle ensued, terminating in the victory of the young
gentleman, and the capture of the rosebud. This little skirmish over,
the married lady, who was the mother of the rosebud, smiled sweetly upon
the young gentleman, and accused him of being a flirt; the young
gentleman pleading not guilty, a most interesting discussion took place
upon the important point whether the young gentleman was a flirt or not,
which being an agreeable conversation of a light kind, lasted a
considerable time. At length, a short silence occurring, the young
ladies on either side of the young gentleman fell suddenly fast asleep;
and the young gentleman, winking upon us to preserve silence, won a pair
of gloves from each, thereby causing them to wake with equal suddenness
and to scream very loud. The lively conversation to which this
pleasantry gave rise, lasted for the remainder of the ride, and would
have eked out a much longer one.
We dined rather more comfortably than people usually do under such
circumstances, nothing having been left behind but the cork-screw and the
bread. The married gentlemen were unusually thirsty, which they
attributed to the heat of the weather; the little boys ate to
inconvenience; mammas were very jovial, and their daughters very
fascinating; and the attendants being well-behaved men, got exceedingly
drunk at a respectful distance.
We had our eye on Mr. Balim at dinner-time, and perceived that he
flourished wonderfully, being still surrounded by a little group of young
ladies, who listened to him as an oracle, while he ate from their plates
and drank from their glasses in a manner truly captivating from its
excessive playfulness. His conversation, too, was exceedingly brilliant.
In fact, one elderly lady assured us, that in the course of a little
lively _badinage_ on the subject of ladies’ dresses, he had evinced as
much knowledge as if he had been born and bred a milliner.
As such of the fat people who did not happen to fall asleep after dinner
entered upon a most vigorous game at ball, we slipped away alone into a
thicker part of the wood, hoping to fall in with Mr. Balim, the greater
part of the young people having dropped off in twos and threes and the
young ladies’ young gentleman among them. Nor were we disappointed, for
we had not walked far, when, peeping through the trees, we discovered him
before us, and truly it was a pleasant thing to contemplate his
greatness.
The young ladies’ young gentleman was seated upon the ground, at the feet
of a few young ladies who were reclining on a bank; he was so profusely
decked with scarfs, ribands, flowers, and other pretty spoils, that he
looked like a lamb—or perhaps a calf would be a better simile—adorned for
the sacrifice. One young lady supported a parasol over his interesting
head, another held his hat, and a third his neck-cloth, which in romantic
fashion he had thrown off; the young gentleman himself, with his hand
upon his breast, and his face moulded into an expression of the most
honeyed sweetness, was warbling forth some choice specimens of vocal
music in praise of female loveliness, in a style so exquisitely perfect,
that we burst into an involuntary shout of laughter, and made a hasty
retreat.
What charming fellows these young ladies’ young gentlemen are! Ducks,
dears, loves, angels, are all terms inadequate to express their merit.
They are such amazingly, uncommonly, wonderfully, nice men.